


A Bottle of Whiskey

by peppermintquartz



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Canon-typical swearing, Derogatory Language, Gen, Sexist Language, Tommy/Alfie if you squint?, odd friendship, post-S306
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After dinner, Mary came to Tommy’s door. “Sir, the Jew is at the door. Shall I invite him in?”<br/>***<br/>Set the night of the S3 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bottle of Whiskey

The house was very quiet. Tommy Shelby’s mind, however, was raucous with the accusations from his family. Out of all the yelling and screaming, he remembered Polly’s reaction the best. She had not said much, but when Michael had been manhandled into one of the waiting cars, she had turned and spat in Tommy’s direction.

“My son,” she snarled. “My own fucking son. If anything should happen to him, Thomas Michael Shelby, I swear to _me_ that I will tear your head from your shoulders!”

Then she had been led away as well.

***

After dinner, Mary came to Tommy’s door. “Sir, the Jew is at the door. Shall I invite him in?”

Tommy barely moved his head. “Yes. The study, Mary. Check on Charles, make sure he has everything he needs. Then you can go to bed.”

“Yes sir.”

***

Alfie Solomons studied the books on display with the same kind of intensity he had scrutinizing the jewels in the vault.

Tommy stood at the door, his glass loosely held in one hand. “Are you friend or foe tonight, Alfie? I’ve had a really long day and frankly, I’d rather be drinking.”

“Friend, inasmuch as we can be friends,” said Alfie. He folded his glasses and tucked it into his pocket before turning around to face Tommy. “Little bird told me you sent your family to the fucking coppers, eh? That’s plain ruthless of you, Thomas Shelby, plain fucking ruthless.”

“Says the fucking man who sold me out fucking _twice_.”

“Times dictates measures, eh.” The big man gestured to the trappings of the room. “And you’ve measured yourself to the fuckin’ uppers. Look at all these shit. If I hadn’t sold you out, Tommy-boy, would you have gotten all this fucking gilt?”

“Yes, and much more easily.” Tommy exhaled a hollow-sounding laugh and walked into the room. “News travel fast.”

“News travel as fast as fucking gold,” said Alfie. He motioned to the basket. “Peace offerin’, for tonight. Thought you’d need it.”

In the basket were two bottles of whiskey. Tommy lifted it out by the neck. He took a seat by the fireplace. He used to like fireplaces. Right now he could do with a fire. Tommy felt cold as ice inside.

“Already hanging them, eh?” Alfie asked. He sat down opposite Tommy, holding the other bottle. “Forget the fucking glass, eh, and we’ll drink as you gypsies do. None o’ that gentlemen shit.”

Tommy frowned at his visitor opening the bottle. “Is drinking whiskey kosher?”

“As long as you don’t overindulge. But I, being who I am, running a distillery, am near fucking impervious to these poisons, and we all know that I’m fucking damned anyway, so I might as well have some fucking joy out of this whole sorry business.” Alfie hissed and spat into the fireplace. “Fucking business has us fucked however we turn.”

“We’re _fucked_.” Tommy laughed once. He clinked bottles with Alfie. “You and I, Alfie Solomons, probably will be doing fucking business in hell. Together, against the Devil.”

“Well then. He’s fucked,” Alfie said with a savage grin. He raised the bottle. “To being damned.”

“To being damned,” echoed Tommy. The whiskey burned smoothly down his throat.

***

When they were about halfway through their respective bottles, Tommy asked Alfie why he was there.

“My mum was run through the snow by those fucking Russian dogs. We got to Camden and I promised her, eh, we won’t ever be run by fucking dogs again. Never. Not fuckin’ ever. Not even if fucking Moses and Abraham themselves had dogs and set them after us.” Alfie chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. Tommy was transfixed by the light glinting off the bottle in the Jew's hand. “But the first year we got there, them fucking Italians were setting dogs on my people. My brothers and I, we were the righteous wrath of God, Tommy, the fucking burning brand.”

“And after that you had to sacrifice them.”

“No angel or lamb came to me,” said Alfie. He took a long swig from the bottle. “I was there when they were fucking hanged. Some cursed me, some begged me. The begging, Tommy, the fucking begging. They went to their deaths on their knees, metaphorically speakin’, eh, and I carry their just rage and their lost pride on my fucking shoulders every day.”

Tommy tapped the bottle against the side of his thigh. “I’ll get them back.”

“Not all o’ them.” Alfie drank noisily. "Not all of them."

Tommy knew what the Jew meant.

***

Tommy let Alfie peek in on Charles.

“Wee gypsy tyke,” said Alfie quietly. “He’s got his mum’s looks?”

“I hope so,” Tommy answered. He looked at his son and felt something tight inside unknot. Sleeping Charles looked like an angel.

Alfie touched Charles’ cheek with a thick forefinger, then placed his hand gently on the child’s head. He murmured something under his breath.

Tommy did not panic when Alfie had his hand on his son, but now he felt stirrings of alarm in his soul. “What did you say?”

“A blessing.” Alfie’s gaze was unusually soft. “My mum said it to me, I said it to my young’uns. And now I’ve said it for your boy.”

“Thank you.” Tommy led the man out of the room. “What was in the blessing?”

“May God make you like Ephraim and Menasheh. May God Bless you and guard you. May the light of God shine upon you, and may God be gracious to you. May the presence of God be with you and give you peace.” Alfie closed his eyes. “ _Y'simcha Elohim k'Efrayim v'che-Menasheh. Y'varechecha Adonai V'yish'm'recha. Ya'er Adonai panav eilecha vichuneka. Yisa Adonai panav eilecha v'yasem l'cha shalom._ ”

To Tommy’s uneducated ears, this sounded like what Alfie had said in the nursery, and his hackles settled.

***

“That’s a fucking big bed, Tommy.”

“I fucked Tatiana on this bed.”

“Was she a good fuck?”

“Good enough. Completely fucking crazy, but she knew how to use her cunt.”

“Well then. I’ll sleep here tonight. Is it alright if I don’t have a cunt to use, eh?”

“Too late for me to find one for you to use, Alfie.”

“Goodnight, Thomas fucking Shelby.”

***

Alfie left at false dawn.

Tommy felt the silence closing in again, but not as tightly as before. And his head was blessedly quiet.


End file.
